


The Kind You Stop

by Taste_is_Sweet



Series: Dread and Darling Boys [2]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Captain America (Movies), Marvel, Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, Gen, Hydra (Marvel), Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Post-Season/Series 01, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-06
Updated: 2014-06-06
Packaged: 2018-02-03 16:29:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1751180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Taste_is_Sweet/pseuds/Taste_is_Sweet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>He blurts, "Who are you?" before he can stop himself, because if this is Hydra then why is he restrained? They </i>know<i> him. Unease stirs in his guts but he forces himself to relax, stamp it down. He doesn't have enough information yet to be afraid.</i></p><p>
  <i>"Agent Taylor. Of Hydra." The woman looks calmly back at him, as if just waiting for his next question.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Grant doesn't get this at all. This shouldn't be happening. "Then why am I restrained?"</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Taylor curves her mouth in something that could be a smile if there were anything like warmth in it. "So you can't run," said like it's the most obvious thing in the world.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Kind You Stop

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Squeaky](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Squeaky/gifts).



Grant Ward is used to being alone.

When he was a kid he'd hide from his brother for hours on end: in the house, in the nearby forest, near the well where they weren't allowed to play but always did because nobody checked on them. Grant stopped going there when his little brother drowned, but he'd found other places by then.

When he burned his house down he didn't have to hide anymore. But then came Juvie and he was too busy making sure nobody fucked with him to worry about making friends.

John Garrett left him in the woods for over six months. With a dog, sure, but that didn't really count. Grant still thinks about the dog, sometimes. He'd been a good hunter.

When he was part of Agent Coulson's team Grant had never been alone. That was…nice. Pleasant. Mostly, anyway. Fitz and Simmons were cute but they both talked too much and Fitz had such an obvious crush on him that it made Grant uncomfortable. He still regrets that he didn't just shoot them both; Fitz deserved a quick, painless death and he really hadn't wanted either of them to suffer. He always hated seeing Simmons cry.

May was exactly the kind of person Grant tries to be—cold, unshakable, and contained. But she was also a cypher he never really cracked.

And Coulson made him nervous sometimes, like when he'd look at Grant like he could really _see_ him: the monster inside that no one else, not even Garrett, knew about.

Garrett had known Grant was capable. He'd known Grant was loyal and obedient. He definitely knew Grant was dangerous and an excellent liar. But he never looked at Grant the way Coulson did. Like Coulson knew exactly what kind of disgusting, stunted thing Grant really was and thought he could save him anyway.

Maybe Coulson's finally figured out that some things can't be saved.

Skye…was Skye. She was the first person who ever made Grant wish he could be the kind of man she thought he was. She's way better off without him.

He's better off without them, too. Though if he's being honest with himself—and he's always brutally honest—he's not enjoying being surrounded by sort-of ex-S.H.I.E.L.D. agents, especially not with his hands manacled and his ankles chained, and knowing Hydra's not coming for him. Unlike Hand, the agents 'escorting' him to whatever pit they've chosen haven't talked at all, let alone invited their subordinates to shoot him.

Not that Grant wants to get shot.

When he hears the unmistakable sound of armored vehicles coming up fast, at first he's as surprised as the agents. He was sure that even if Hydra could come for him, he doesn't ping high enough on their radar for them to bother. But then the explosions and gunfire start and, hey. Maybe being Garrett's protégé actually does mean something.

So now he's just glad he was belted into his seat and counting the seconds until…yes, almost fifteen exactly, before the van's forced to stop. The two agents with him are ready for the back doors of the van to bust open, not for a hole to be punched through and a canister shoved inside. There are gasmasks in one of the storage compartments—standard issue—but the stuff works _fast_ and both agents are down before they can even suck in a breath to hold.

Grant did, but no one's coming in, and even with his mouth closed he can feel the stuff stinging his eyes and itching on his skin. He realizes as he suddenly can't hold his head up that the gas works on contact, not just inhalation.

The back doors open just as Grant loses consciousness. His last thought is maybe it's not Hydra after all.

He wakes up with a screaming headache in the back of another van. He's still chained up, only now there are straps across his upper body too, pinning his arms.

" _There_ you are, finally," someone says. A woman's voice. She sounds like Hill, only when Grant works his head back up his neck she's not. Dark-skin, short hair, beautiful but obviously deadly and very much in charge. She checks her watch, frowns. "I was expecting you to shake the effects six minutes ago. We'll have to work on that."

Grant stares at her. He knows better than to speak, especially when he's groggy from whatever shit they threw at him. But then the woman lowers her arm and the metal Hydra pin is clear and red as a bloodstain on the lapel of her crisp, expensive suit. 

He blurts, "Who are you?" before he can stop himself, because if this is Hydra then why is he restrained? They _know_ him. Unease stirs in his guts but he forces himself to relax, stamp it down. He doesn't have enough information yet to be afraid.

"Agent Taylor. Of Hydra," the woman says distractedly, pulling her phone out of her breast pocket. She sends a text then puts it back and folds her hands neatly in her lap. She looks calmly back at him, as if just waiting for his next question.

Grant doesn't get this at all. This shouldn't be happening. "Then why am I restrained?"

Taylor curves her mouth in something that could be a smile if there were anything like warmth in it. "So you can't run," said like it's the most obvious thing in the world.

He's afraid now.

The van slows, goes through a tunnel leading underground by how it sounds. Concrete under the wheels. It drives a little further and stops.

"Here we are," Taylor says briskly. She unbuckles herself and stands, brushing needlessly at her immaculate skirt. The van doors open and she steps out, giving her hand to another armored agent before jumping lightly to the pavement.

Two more agents come in. One trains his gun on Grant while the other puts a code into a pad above Grant's head. The restraints release and the agent helps Grant stand. His foot chains are shorter, so his stride is pathetically tiny. It takes a stupid amount of time for him to get to the van door, and then two agents hold his elbows while he hops out like a child.

There's a wheelchair waiting for him.

"Timetable," Agent Taylor says by way of explanation.

Grant's already got the tactical situation, here. There are six agents with him and Taylor, all pointing guns at him. He can see more stationed by the single garage-type door which is the only visible entrance or exit. There are cameras everywhere and what look like gun turrets running every few feet where the wall meets the ceiling.

Fucking _gun turrets_ , like the entire building exists just to contain the most dangerous humans on the planet. People they'd rather have dead than outside. Even if he could subdue every single agent to find the one with the remote for his manacles, he'd never get out of here.

Grant didn't think there was any place more secure than the Fridge; obviously he was wrong. And now he's wondering just how much else Garrett never told him. 

And he still has no idea why he's here, what he possibly could've done.

He sits in the chair, endures the agents moving his feet onto the footrests like he's some kind of cripple, endures the handcuffs they use to attach his wrist manacles to the seat of the chair.

He's well and truly terrified now, though he doesn't show it, tries to make a joke. "I don't know what Garrett told you, but I'm really not as good as you seem to think I am."

No one responds.

They go into an elevator and up two floors. The corridor he's wheeled into is long and white and very institutional. They stop about halfway down, in front of two heavy metal doors. It takes two agents to unlock them, each punching in a separate code in tandem. Grant's chair is turned all the way around so he can't see it.

The room they go into looks like an operating theater, except there are two tables. Both of them have restraints, though only one has what he can tell are very sophisticated monitors and a machine to deliver anesthesia. The second has extra bands for the chest, waist, thighs and ankles. They're made of metal, clearly intended to extend out of housings built into the table's sides.

Behind the restraint table is a chair that reminds him of a Spartan version of Agent Koenig's lie detector, though it has separate footrests and braces for his legs and arms, and more of the heavy, retractable restraints. There are pieces on either side that look like they fold into something like a helmet. Maybe it's another lie detector. All Grant knows is he sure as hell doesn't want to sit in it.

In a corner of the room is a tall, gleaming white cylinder. There's a hatch in the front, with a wheel lock like on a safe and a long window, though Grant can't see anything inside it to look at. There are tubes attached to the cylinder's top and sides, and some kind of readout panel.

He doesn't know what that thing is for either, but he's completely and terribly aware that this—the cylinder and lie detector chair and Jesus, God, the two tables—is for him. He's trapped and they're going to use this equipment to _do_ something to him, and no. No way in hell. He'd rather die.

Grant starts struggling, trying to jimmy or break the lock. He knows it's stupid, hopeless, maybe suicidal, but he can't help it. His survival instinct is too strong for him to just sit there and take what they're going to do to him.

He manages to get his feet off the rests and take out one of the agents because the guy's not paying attention. Grant kind of kicks himself into falling on top of him, using the side of the wheelchair to hold him down. Grant's pretty sure he sees the chain with the remote for the manacles around the guy's neck and he can almost reach it and then one of the other agents shoots him in the stomach and he's done.

He's too busy trying to breathe through the pain to do anything as they quickly release the manacles and ankle chains and then put him surprisingly gently onto the restraint table.

"Get the surgeons," Taylor snaps to one of the agents, who nods and lifts her radio to talk into it. "Well," Taylor says to Grant. "That was impressive. I was concerned we hadn't made the right call."

Grant stares at her. He blinks, as helpless to stop the tears running down his cheeks as he was to escape. "…what?"

Taylor ignores him, getting out her phone and dialing. "Yes, he's here," she says, speaking into it. She frowns. "Obviously. Just have them prep the second theater, then. You know about the GSW, correct? Good." She glances at Grant. "In a minute." She frowns, looks at Grant for longer, studying. "No", she says, still looking at him. "Both this time. And no, I haven't changed my mind about that Deathlok crap. We're going strictly old-school on this." She smirks faintly. "I agree, they certainly don't make them like they used to." She hangs up and puts her phone back, then faces Grant again. "I'm sorry Agent Song had to shoot you, but that won't be an issue shortly."

Grant tries to speak again, mostly manages it. "What…to do…with me?"

Agent Taylor looks at him and her face is pleased but very, very serious. "We've lost one of our assets," she says. "A very important one. You're going to be the replacement."

She comes closer, reaches out and cups Grant's face. "You're going to help shape the next century," she says. And she smiles.

 

END

**Author's Note:**

> This idea hit me shortly after watching CA:TWS and the final first season episodes of M:AoS, and wouldn't leave me alone. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I did the speculation. :)
> 
> With thanks to [Brumeier](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Brumeier/pseuds/Brumeier) for the very speedy beta!


End file.
